Athame's Mercy
by Bebus
Summary: A Goddess cannot allow herself to be ruled by emotion. Responsible for the development and protection of an entire species, how does a very mortal Athame face a single worshipper's plea for divine assistance?


_Beautiful._

Gazing at the magnificent sight before her, Athame felt a warm swell of pride, _far _beyond any paltry joy she had felt in her millennium-long life to that date.

She was proud in a way she had never before been, not even of her own offspring. They were now scientists and hardened warriors themselves, leading the expansion of the Empire on the other side of the galaxy, as was to be expected from those with such a lineage.

However, Athame had long felt her true legacy lay not with her heirs, but in the beauty she had created with her hands and mind over centuries of careful work.

She rarely allowed herself such moments of pointless reflection, but as she gazed upon the temple that those who had become her _true _children had built, Athame smiled.

It was a thing of true beauty. Constructed from compounds her daughters could barely understand, with techniques they would forget for millennia until natural evolution re-discovered them, designed to last until time itself burned away, it was the ultimate monument to her success.

She hadbeen careful, of course, to ensure all materials used were sourced from the planet, and it contained no advanced technology beyond that hidden beneath it; as she had been careful in every other step of her project.

Athame took a single step forward, graceful, perfectly white robes trailing across the wild grass with a whisper that carried across the silent crowd kneeling before her.

Her guides flanked her; their male forms larger, clad in the traditional armour of her people, but they failed to carry themselves with the unconscious elegance she did. It was why she had chosen them: they were impressive, and her children would remember them well, but she could not allow them to eclipse her. A pantheon of Gods needed a leader.

Perhaps, long after she was dead and the Protheans left this planet, their legacy would morph, as was only natural.

But her own lasting prominence was paramount to her plan's success, and so she had chosen younger, impressionable males, despite the project's importance allowing her to take her pick from the finest minds of the Empire. _She _would be the one known as leader, as the true guide of her children.

Athame took another step, and glanced with warm affection at the graceful forms kneeling, heads bowed, all with a single hand raised, each hoping Athame would gift them with her prophecy.

They were creatures of a beauty otherwise unknown in the galaxy. A worthy dynasty indeed.

Slowly, each movement carefully calculated to exude absolute confidence, perfect grace and dazzling beauty, she traversed the path, lined with her worshippers. She had chosen _now _as the time to arrive, because she knew the rising sun at her back would grant her a radiant aura as the light reflected from her generated barrier, and would catch the metal of her shield and sword in a sensational rainbow of colour.

As she neared the steps of her temple, one of the supplicants in particular caught her attention. Unlike the forms around it, this one was gazing upwards, brilliant sapphire eyes sparkling with both fear, and yet a determined strength. Curious, Athame made an instant decision and broke from the path before her.

The silent crowd grew tense as she approached the single raised head.

To its merit, the kneeling form did not shift, did not flinch. Athame approved. If the child had shown too much expectation, she would have been forced to strike it down, as regrettable as the action would be. A deity could not be seen as in any way subservient to another's actions.

Slowly, Athame removed the soft glove covering her hand, and she heard several sharp intakes of breath from the creatures around her chosen.

With great care, she mentally prepared herself. Touching the minds of primitives was fraught with risk: if she in any way allowed some of her own ancestral memory to slip, she would be forced to execute the recipient. For all of her guidance, she had a carefully laid future planned for these people, and could not allow them any sliver of knowledge not part of her prophecy.

When she finally touched the pale, outstretched hand before her, the tension of the thick air could have been cut by the blade hanging at her side.

As soon as she felt the cool skin against her own, her daughter's life, experiences and hopes became Athame's.

In an instant, the simple mind transferred everything it was to Athame, and she broke the touch.

Reading the life of her daughters had become easier with practice; their minds were as yet untouched by the vast knowledge and responsibility they would one day hold, and were instead dominated by base desires and primitive needs.

A second passed in silence as Athame processed the flood of unrestrained emotion pouring from the kneeling form...

The kneeling _mother._

Her daughter was sick, and she hoped for Athame's guidance in how to heal her.

Athame recognised the symptoms, holding in a frown. It was a plague, one she had tried several times to eradicate, but it proved stubborn, resurfacing every decade or so in a different part of the planet. It first affected the young, especially babies such as this one's, and would eventually spread to the whole colony if not treated.

The plague was simple enough to cure, even withoutmanufactured medicine. The planet had a huge variety of medicinal herbs and plants, which was one of the many reasons it had been chosen; when the planet's full potential was realised it had taken all of Athame's influence to stop her people from simply eradicating the natives and harvesting its flora to bolster the strength of the Empire.

Her cause was too important to allow it.

At that point, the people of the planet had begun their worship of Athame in earnest. She had secured her reputation as a divine oracle, and Lucen had finally made his breakthrough in teaching biotics.

How could she allow the Empire to cast all of that aside - this species with so much potential - for their own selfish desires? Athame was their protector, their guide, their _Goddess_. They were devoted to her, and she would shield them from _any _threat.

She looked down at the mother, whose eyes had turned down to the ground as Athame read her prophecy.

To cure her child would be to squander a far greater opportunity to demonstrate her power.

If the plague was allowed to spread, when she finally gave her daughters the knowledge of how to cure it, their gratitude would dwarf that of the single mother before her.

'My child,' Athame began, tongue easily wrapping around the primitive language they used to communicate, loud enough so those nearby could hear.

The young mother looked up, with an infinite hope glistening across her damp, sapphire eyes, a hope born of true devotion, of the belief that _she _alone could help.

Unwelcome compassion struck Athame's usually cold, calculating mind.

Was it worth it? Condemning this mother, and countless others should the plague spread, to grief and heartbreak to secure her own divine power?

On this day, this day of celebration, this day dedicated to _her_, the unveiling of the monument to her benevolence and greatness, could she crush this young mother's simple hopes and dreams?

With a sudden rush, the mother's grief struck a long-forgotten memory of Athame's. Her own son, born _so _long ago, now a fierce general of the Empire's armies, the very Avatar of Glory, had been stricken with an illness early in his life.

It had been the first time in centuries the already-then-powerful Athame had felt true fear. She was no doctor, and had rushed straight to a hospital, clutching the pathetically coughing babe to her chest. In a display ill-fitting one of her stature, she had stutteringly explained her situation to the doctor... who cured the child with a single breath of medicine-filled air.

Her son had a simple infection, which would have gone away on its own in a matter of days.

She had felt ridiculous afterwards, and apologised for her behaviour, but that terror, that absolute helplessness had struck her so deeply she was surprised she had been able to forget the feelings.

And now she saw that same helpless terror in the eyes of the mother kneeling before her, begging for help, just as she had to that doctor, all those centuries ago.

She reached out and softly caressed the cerulean face, so full of love and potential. Her voice was a whisper that all could hear.

'One day's walk in the direction of the sunrise will lead you to the base of a mountain. The red flower growing there will cure your child. Bring enough for your whole family, for the sickness may yet spread.'

The mother collapsed to the ground, weeping tears of joy and relief, and Athame allowed herself another smile as she gazed on the form, on the faces of relief of those around her.

On this day, there would be no loss.

Perhaps in time the sickness would still spread. Perhaps a worse disaster would yet come to them.

But today, people would remember Athame's benevolence.

'Praise you, Goddess, praise you!' the mother cried, arms outstretched as she lay on the soft grass.

Athame knelt, and took the hand of the weeping mother. 'Rise, my child, and depart now. Your daughter awaits your return.'

Wide, swollen eyes met Athame's own, so full of gratitude that Athame had to crush down the wave of affection that made her want to embrace the mother. She could not allow herself such a display, as much as she wished it.

'Thank you, Goddess,' the young mother whispered, and without any further delay stood and ran to the direction of the rising sun.

Athame straightened, and returned to her guides. She could see a hint of disapproval in the eyes of both Janaris and Lucen, and a little confusion; it was not often she allowed emotion to dictate her actions. On any other day she would have denied such a personal request, placing the development of her project above such petty sentiment.

But as she looked up to the grand structure of her temple, heart swelling with pride at her daughters - for the first time in decades touched with a longing to see her own children again - Athame knew that today, she had made the right choice.


End file.
